Jed watches light spill through blurred panes, a slur of sun and moon. His bones

soften, intricate combs cluster in the ivoried curve of rib and groin, in lung’s petaled tissue. Crimped, desiccate, he crawls to the clawfoot— painstakingly filled over the last week—nearly half this year’s harvest. Trembles

on the cusp. Slides deep. Porcelain cradles his skull. Beyond the small bathroom skeins of bees spangle the sky.
His heartbeat falters. Consciousness collapses
to a pinprick
of sound honey